And so it began.

I first heard about Couchsurfing in Trinidad and Tobago. I was there on a practicum towards an education degree, and was sharing a dorm room with a fellow Student Teacher. Her eyes were gleaming when she asked me if I'd ever heard of Couchsurfing. I had not (except as it applies to sleeping on the couches of friends and family). Through the website, couchsurfing.com, my roommate had become "friends" with a local Trinidadian woman who was coming to the dorm to pick her up for a tour: Did I want to come with? I thought my roommate was crazy - actually it turned out that she was crazy, but that is the subject for another blog entirely. She persuaded me, and I tagged along, and this was my introduction to a whole new way of experiencing the world.

So here I am, almost two years later. I suddenly have an opportunity to visit Great Britain. I haven't thought about Couchsurfing since that tour in Trinidad and Tobago; but with my travel plans being so last minute, and coinciding with Wimbledon, I am having trouble finding more standard forms of accommodation. And so it has occurred to me to give Couchsurfing a shot.

Two weeks ago I checked out the website. People who are interested in travelling, hosting travellers or even just meeting a traveller for a coffee and some interesting conversation are required to post a profile. The profile contains photos, descriptions of yourself and the couch you have available, and references posted by people you have met along the way. There is an option to donate some money to the site for a "verification" of your name and address... this is supposedly a safety precaution, but I'm not sure that I buy it.

After a couple of hours of agonizing over wording, photo choices and whether I "definitely," "yes," or "maybe" had a couch, I posted my profile and began browsing the profiles. Who are these people? Idealists? Freeloaders? Rapists looking for easy prey?

I had selected "yes" to whether or not I have a couch; after all, if I'm planning to make use of the other people's couches, it is only fair that I make mine available too. Even without a single reference, I was immediately bombarded with requests.

The first one was from a French man who had been couchsurfing since September. I received the request while nervously chatting with a friend. Should I do this? Is it insane? I read her some of his long list of positive references. He sounded ok. I responded, "Yes!"

Cleaning my apartment in preparation for his arrival (an unadvertised bonus of the program), I couldn't help but catastrophize about what was to come. Would he be carrying bed bugs? Would he have terrible B.O.? By the time he pushed my apartment's buzzer, I was convinced that I'd invited a serial rapist to sleep on my couch without even a lock on the door to my bedroom. As I opened the door, I heaved a deep sigh of relief. He was 5'1" tall, and quite skinny. My first thought was, "if he tries anything at all, I can take him!"

Etienne (not his real name), turned out to be a lover of silent meditation and vegetables. He lectured me on how the media and government brainwashes the population to mistrust each other - a divide and conquer sort of idea- so that we are easier to dominate. He believes that Couchsurfing deprograms its participants and rebuilds trust in humanity. Part conspiracy theorist, part idealist, Etienne was a fascinating guest. On his second night, I practiced my French while he cooked me a vat of food that carried me easily through the next week.

Two days later, I received Gretta (again, I have changed her name) from Germany. I was less nervous about her arrival. An IT professional who had been working for a start-up company in the Silicon Valley that went bust, Gretta wanted to check out Vancouver before heading home to Germany. She had positive references, and was roughly my age, so I felt quite comfortable.

My spidey-senses were off!!

Gretta spent the first few hours complaining about her previous host, regaling me with stories of couchsurfing-gone-wrong, and telling me how delightful I am: "like a long-lost sister." Never trust those who appear to love you for no reason.

Actually, other than the complaining, the first day was lovely. I toured her around the city, and catered to her whims: When she wanted a European-style pastry, I took her to a cute little french patisserie; when she wanted an afternoon beer, I took her to a micro-brewery for a flight of their specialties.

All was fine, until the next morning. She wanted to visit the Museum of Anthropology before her flight, but I had to pick up my (impounded) car. When I couldn't give her a definitive answer about how long that would take me, and declined to let her stay in my place without me, and leave it unlocked upon her exit, she started shouting at me. Out of nowhere. I was stunned. I asked her to relax, and she shouted more. I stayed silent and let her yell at me, hoping it would just pass and we could part ways. When she was done yelling, she told me to meet her at the Museum at 11:30am. At this point I no longer wished to see her again, but I thought that maybe after some time apart she would cool down and apologize to me. Nope.

I even drove her to the airport when she was done with the museum. She criticized my driving.

She has since left me a glowing reference on my profile page, and I have not responded.

I leave for Britain in two days. If nothing else, this will be a peculiar adventure!